Shadows
by Intaglionyx
Summary: How is cooking like sewing? (Kanji Tatsumi's father isn't the only person he resembles these days.)


When he looks to her from the corner of his eye, with his face angled on the silver sliver and the pastel pink fabric in his hands, Fuuka's expression reminds Kanji of something he's seen before, something he sees often. The origin of the memory evades him, though, despite its intense familiarity. Although it's practically second nature to him now, to the point that his hands go through the motions practically on their own, he returns his focus to the task at hand: a small bunny, something he's made at least half a hundred times by now. Not boring, never boring, but simple enough that it isn't hard for him to explain the steps that go into crafting it.

"The important thing—I mean, there' are a lot of important things to this, don't get me wrong, but-" He normally doesn't stumble like this; maybe it's because today's student makes the back of his neck flush fever-warm, or maybe it's just the expression that won't quite leave the girl's eyes. Who does she remind him of? "-one thing to keep in mind is that you need to stay calm. I mean, I find this calming now, but when you're first starting out, well, when I was-" He needs to follow his own advice. "-It can be a little hard to keep your hands steady, and shaky hands means a lot of pricked fingers, starting out. You wouldn't believe how many of my senpai quit after their first or second session because they got a little nervous or went a little too quick and stabbed themselves in the thumb or whatever. I mean, you seem chill, but, hey, you should still try to, I dunno. Try to make sure you stay in the zone."

She laughs; there's something strange about the sound, something a little too practiced, but it's still nice. "Don't worry, I'm used to not giving up when I don't start out good at something." She smiles. Kanji's stomach does something weird, something it hasn't done since Naoto skipped town for her latest case, or string of cases.

He shuts that line of thought down right quick. "That's a good way of thinking, senpai," he says, pushing a little extra bravado into it, and then stabs himself in the thumb with the sewing needle, hard. "Aw, hell," Kanji says after cutting off his initial yelp with a cough. In a practiced motion that he hopes doesn't suggest just how many times this has happened to him, he moves his hand so that the palm is under his thumb, ready to catch the blood that runs wet and dark down to it. He scoots back away from the table, careful not to get anything on the fabric scattered across its surface in patches and bundles, and stands to make his way toward the sink.

Fuuka follows him there, asking where he and his mother keep the first aid kit, and soon she has a band-aid and a dab of disinfectant ready for him on a little square of wax paper. A minute passes, or maybe too, and it's quiet in a nice way, despite the sharp throbbing in his thumb. He wonders if he hit bone. It feels like it. He flexes it, slowly and then quickly, testing to see if the blood will start to flow again, then nods to himself. "Thanks, senpai."

They make their way back to the table. He explains things again and gives her a little more advice—being sure to follow it, this time—and then gives her a fresh needle, some thread, and a set of cloth he cut himself.

He knows that being watched can make it hard for some people to concentrate, but for some reason he doesn't think she's that type. He looks at her hands, and sometimes at her face; sometimes his eyes drift to hers, to the look of determination in them, and there's something in that that reminds him of his mom. And then it hits him.

The look she had on before is the look his ma gets when she's looking at him and seeing his dad in whatever it is he's doing at the time, whether he's putting the supplies away, or helping to set up shop, or even just rinsing the dishes and cutlery so she doesn't have to bend over to put everything in the dishwasher. It used to piss him off, back when he was younger and getting pissed off was his reaction to just about everything, but one day he looked at himself in the mirror and saw a little of what she was seeing, and suddenly it wasn't so bad anymore. It started to make him feel a little pride, even.

Here, though. Who does he remind her of, and how? His shoulders get stiff, the way they used to get when he could hear whispers in the hall at school but couldn't tell whether they were about him or not. She looks up at him then, away from the messy progress she's made, and whatever she sees in Kanji's face makes her eyes widen. He tries to smile, tries not to scare off this new friend he's making, and in spite of how stiff it makes his face feel, it must look okay, because she gives him a quick smile of her own and looks back down to her handiwork.


End file.
